


Wellness

by NanixErka



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Coco Villain AU, F/M, Gen, Psychological Trauma, Some dark themes, Therapy, mostly mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NanixErka/pseuds/NanixErka
Summary: Psychologist Malcom Kevgil is called upon by the Riveras to help with Miguels post-mortem development. He quickly learns however that this is moreso a trauma rehabilitation, and an untangling of lies and 90 year old mysteries.He’s a smart man, but will compassion and an analytical mind win out against Family ties?(A transfer from Tumblr to AO3)
Relationships: Héctor Rivera & Miguel Rivera, Héctor Rivera & Original Character(s), Héctor Rivera/Imelda Rivera, Imelda Rivera & Miguel Rivera, Imelda Rivera & Original Character(s), Miguel Rivera & Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. The Consultation

**Author's Note:**

> This AU iteration is from im-fairly-whitty on tumblr <3

Malcom Kevgil had come to a realization about a decade after his death in 1987: He was a busier man in the land of the dead than he was in the land of the living

He’d died suddenly in an accident while visiting his mother in Santa Cecilia at the tender age of 27. 3 years out of college and with a practice just getting itself off the ground, his death was certainly tragic in every sense. But he wasn’t one to wallow. His current practice was bursting at the seams with clientele- to the point where he was starting to send people elsewhere. He occasionally wondered if perhaps he’d have an easier time in a different afterlife- he was after all only half Mexican

He he was pondering such things when he received a call at his office from the Rivera Family of all people.

The Riveras apparently needed a psychologist that would take “doctor-patient confidentiality” to the next level. Someone who - no matter what was said - wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone. Intrigued and slightly concerned, he’d taken the case

The “case”, being Miguel Rivera.

His careful eyes took in the trio as they entered his waiting room

The boy seemed completely dissociated upon first glance. His eyes were glazed over and unable to maintain any sort of eye contact- even to his great great grandparents as he clung to Héctor. Concerning, considering that according to both Héctor and Imelda over the phone he’d been a relatively normal boy before his traumatic death. Héctor was muttering to him gentle nothings it seemed, his entire form seemingly the most tense. Imelda had a resolute look about her, making eye contact with him through the secretarial window

Imelda went into his office first, frankly and honestly telling Malcom of the boys circumstances and her difficulty getting Héctor to let the boy out of his sight.

He was learning very, very quickly why this had to be beyond confidential. Mostly because this “frank and honest” conversation was - at least to his observance- partially fabricated

There was nothing in her story that was unbelievable, no. But the way she talked, her tense vertebrae around her neck when she mentioned the “kidnapping” and “hostage situation”; There was a clear air of bullshit to it.

Well, bullshit to him, anyway. He’d always been good at reading people. Too good, as his mother would tell him

Next in his office was Héctor, toting Miguel. Most clients considered this a “consultation”, but Malcom knew that this was the first appointment. The first impression

And he could tell this was going to be a climb up a sheer cliff, rather than an uphill battle.

The first thing that really, really tipped him off was the fact that Héctor kept talking for Miguel every time Malcom directed a question at him.

“How old are you, Miguel?”

“He is 12”

“Do you like the idea of coming to see me?”

“He’s not too keen, but he knows it’s important”

This went on for a few questions, until Malcom looked at Héctor and flat out said:

“Señor, I am asking him, not you”

Hectors immediate defensive stance was the next tick off his “difficult case” list

It took nearly 2 minutes of back and forth before Héctor relented, and gently put Miguel in front of him. Miguel looked away, hands in the pockets of his red hoodie, glassy eyes refusing to look ahead

Malcom got on his knees, then sat down on the floor, carefully watching Miguel for any sign of alarm or reaction

“Miguel, do you feel not right?” He asked, carefully

Miguel peeked at him

“Do you feel like yourself?” He restructured the question. Miguel shook his head.

“Do you want to get better?”

The boy nodded. It was as good as any place to start.

“Then we’ll start soon.” Malcom nodded to him, managing to look him in his eyes for a brief moment. He caught pain, fear, and a shaken stance that reminded him very much of other children who had died traumatically, but different somehow… the fear was what felt different…

But he couldn’t focus on that now. He stood up, and looked to Héctor “Please sit while I get Señora Rivera” he politely instructed before leaving his office and headed to the hall. He took a few seconds to contemplate before getting to the airing room and waving Imelda into his office. When they were all seated he sat at his desk, clasping his hands together professionally

“I want him coming in twice a week: Mondays and Thursdays. Two hours each. Is that doable?”

“Absolutely” Imelda answered. “How long do you think it will take?”

“Señora Rivera, I will tell you right now that putting a timer on your great great grandsons recovery and mental health wellness is the worst possible thing you could do to him.” He affirmed “and I will tell you both that this will be done on Miguel’s terms. No one else’s. If he wants the session to end early it will end. If he wants to stay late he can stay late. If he wants to see me alone-”

“No!”

He’d been expecting that. Strike three.

“…. Señor Rivera, do you want him to get better?”

“I-… of course-!”

“Then this will be done on his terms.”

Imelda cast a glare his way. He disregarded it. This wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with parents like this- or even grandparents like this.

“We will start this Monday. Is that okay for you, Miguel?” He looked down at the boy, who stared at him with a look most approximated to wonder.

He nodded

“Then I will see you all here on Monday at 4 pm” He stood and they followed suit

Héctor shook his hand weakly before ushering Miguel out with him, and he held his hand out to Imelda, who was maintaining her glare

“Miguel is my grandson, doctor” she stated “You may be a doctor but we are his family. We know best

“I am well aware, Señora” He answered with a nod “But the only person who knows what’s best for Miguel’s head is Miguel. I will see you next week?”

She huffed. “Si. Buenas tardes, doctor”

She slammed the door to his office

Malcom wondered briefly if he should have died back in Tacoma.


	2. Tense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more laying down of relationships before real plot starts sneaking in.

It had taken 3 months for Miguel to start opening up, to start conversing with him about innocuous things and giving Malcom a glance into the boy he was before whatever actual trauma had occurred

It took not even three days for that progress to completely regress

Malcom could not be more frustrated on a fundamental level at the fact that on Monday he had a boy finally opening up- even if it was about small things like his favorite style of guitar play or what he had for breakfast- turned right back into the shy quiet child from the start on Thursday

The appointment went on very similarly to those first three months, and Malcom requested to speak to Imelda and Héctor alone after. It took a little coaxing, but he promised it wouldn’t take long. Miguel was left with his guitar (which he bought to many of the appointments) in the waiting room

“What seems to be the issue, Doctor?” Imelda asked, there was an annoyance in her tone that Malcom didn’t not appreciate it.

“He has regressed. Why has he regressed?” Malcom got right to the point “I had him talking to me, conversing, he was verbal and active”

“You were asking him meaningless things!” Imelda threw her hands in the air “I’m paying you good money and you’ve been asking him the weather!? I want him to get better, Doctor Kevgil!”

Héctor sat there with his wife, agreeing but letting her do the talking. Malcom let out an agitated breath.

“So I am to assume you told him to stop having frivolous conversations with me?”

“Of course. I can’t have you wasting his and our time like this. We’re very busy people”

There was a rather large, gnawing part of Malcom that wanted to point to his two doctorates framed on his wall (thanks to his cousin for putting those on his ofrenda) and tell her to shut up and let him work, but he was smarter than that.

There was also a part of him filing away her ignorance about his profession into a corner for later.

“…. How often does he talk at home?” He asked

The two of them took a few moments to answer. While that was enough of a confirmation for him, he wanted to hear it from them.

“… Only when spoken to” Hector answered “And not for long”

“… And when he is here, he speaks without me having to prompt him. He says hello, he asks me how I am, he talks in full sentences and even shows interest in talking further when we are finished.” Malcom spelled it out. “Is that not progress?”

The two looked at each other.

Malcom looked into his file “I will give you both a hint. The answer… is yes. Getting patients to talk to me is always the first step”

“And what, pray tell, is the second step?” Imelda asked, her sneer was almost amusing to Malcom, were it not so condescending

“Getting him to talk about what bothers him. Only Miguel knows his problems”

“We know his problems!” Hector leaned forward, gesturing with his hands “He is traumatized by his death! It was sudden and scared him and he can’t process it”

“How?”

“…. How what?”

“How has it traumatized him? In what specific ways, Señor Rivera?”

“I….” he lowered his hands, looking away as he thought

“He’s withdrawn and shy. He gets panic attacks when he’s away from Hector or myself and will not pick up his guitar” Imelda answered, looking…. Proud? Malcom was having a field day with this “That is how he is traumatized”

“No” he stressed the word “That is how it has manifested. Those are the symptoms. When I say “how” I mean: How does he feel about it? When he thinks about it what comes to mind? What associations does he make? What triggers his anxiety about it?” He explained “I cannot get to the root if you two tell him that our talking is not conductive to his recovery. Because it is”

Imelda looked about ready to explode for some reason. He quickly filed that away in his mental “Red Flag Rivera” folder for later. She let out a sigh at this.

“Fine” she grit her teeth. “I am going back out to see Miguel. Hector?”

“I will be with you in just a moment, Diosa. I wish to speak with the doctor” Hector took her hand and kissed it, and her expression softened greatly. “Take care of our boy”

“Always, Mi Vida” she muttered to him before turning and leaving, shutting the door rather harshly

“She’s paying for my hinges if she breaks them, Señor” Malcom quipped. Hector couldn’t help but chuckle before looking back at Malcom with a more serious expression

“My wife is spirited because she wants Miguel to recover”

“…. Could have fooled me, Señor. Considering I have to twist both of your arms to get you two to actually assist in his recovery” Before Hector could retort Malcom raised his hand in a “stop” motion. “I am not asking for your complete compliance or blind faith” He clarified “But every time I bring up talking deeper about his day of trauma both of you start getting rather… defensive”

“He-he’s not ready to talk about it!”

“And when he is?”

Hector clenched his jaw and seemed to contemplate something “.. Well… That is why we warned you about confidentiality, Doctor Kevgil”

Hector stood up.

“Anything you hear from Me, Imelda, or Miguel is completely confidential, yes?”

Malcom stood up as well. He knew that tactic of intimidation. A simple one - towering over somebody to make them feel inferior and/or intimidated. Effective- if simplistic. Too bad Malcom was literally a student of the human mind and how it functioned or that little tactic might have actually gotten to him

“I take my job very seriously, Señor Rivera” Malcom answered. His tone held none of the heavy weight that Hector’s did, but he had his own edge to his tone.

There was a brief silence

“I will see you on Monday then?”

“At 4 o clock, as always, Doctor” Hector turned and left his office, leaving the doctor standing behind his desk. Once he was sure they had left Malcom let out a deep, tension-relieving sigh

“Penelopa?” He called out

“Si, Doctor?” His secretary responded

“Close my open enrollment”

“… Perdón, Senor?”

“I know you heard me, Penelopa. Send them to Doctor Mezza. She needs to clientele. This Rivera case is going to take more time than I previously thought.” He sat back at his desk “And please, see how soon you can do some schedule shifting to get me a day off. I’m going to need it”

“Of course, Doctor Kevgil.” she started typing away at her old computer “You really seem to be serious about this case”

“… I’m worried about the boy” he admitted, staring at the file on his desk

Something was very, very wrong here, and Malcom knew that both Imelda and Hector were aware of his inkling. There was no other reason for Hector to attempt to intimidate him.

He’d have to tread carefully, without letting it get in the way of Miguel’s recovery.

Much easier said than done.


	3. A Moment Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little insight into Miguel’s current state, and we learn a little bit about Malcom too

Malcom had been genuinely taken off guard when it was Miguel who had requested they talk alone.

He’d thought he’d have to do more arm twisting. More battles of “I literally went to school for this, Señora, I know what I’m doing” with Imelda. Talking alone was a huge step and would be crucial to Miguel’s moving forward. And for Miguel to want it? That was a great thing.

But not, of course, without disagreement from what Malcom was keen to call “The Opposition Party”

“Miguel, are you sure-”

“Sí, Papa Héctor” Miguel assured, the look in his eyes was reminding Malcom of other times this had happened in his office. “Doctor Malcom says that I need to be comfortable in talking about my problems…”

“And…. you are not comfortable with me.” Héctor finished the thought. 

“No! I am, Papa Héctor! Just…. Not with this” Miguel tried to smile, but it was lopsided. Malcom decided to chime in

“Him talking to me privately means that we can get to the root of the problem faster, Señor. Do you like talking about your private thoughts while others are with you?” he asked. Héctor simply shook his head. “Nothing talked about with me will go anywhere but this room” He assured. Héctor looked at him, his eyes taking a serious glare.

“…. Alright. If that is what Miguel wants. But if he starts getting anxious you call me back in immediately” Héctor resigned. It was not too surprising to see the wind leave his sails so quickly when its what Miguel wants. That was certainly helpful. Imelda said nothing, but followed Héctor out into the waiting room.

Miguel took a deep breath after they left, looking at his hands and flexing the bony digits. Malcom waited patiently before he looked up.

“So, what’s so secret you didn’t want your bisabuelo and bisabuela here?” He asked.

“Uh… Nothing really I guess… I just don’t feel ….Comfortable…? Talking about bad things when they’re around…”

There was a lie in there, but Malcom wasn’t going to call it out. One step at a time.

“I can understand that. It can be hard to talk about things that are unpleasant with people you love. Is it because you don’t want them to be upset?”

“… Yeah, that’s a part of it.” He held his hands together and kicked his legs, looking away

“Only a part?”

“.. They just… Don’t like talking about bad things… Ever..” Miguel slumped back, fidgeting “I mean … Anything something bad happens they just… Fix it”

“So when they can’t fix something..?”

“They don’t wanna talk about it…” Miguel sat back up again. “Like, we went to lunch and they didn’t have the tequila Papa Héctor liked. So, he just had it delivered…. But when it wasn’t the way he liked it he just forgot about it.” He rocked back and forth. His speech was partially stuttered as he spoke “And- and when Mama Imelda couldn’t get the fabric for a dress she wanted cause it hadn’t been made yet she just… Didn’t even talk about it or get a new dress she just hung up and didn’t talk about it again it was.. Really weird….”

“And because of their behavior, you don’t feel comfortable talking to them about how you feel” Malcom commented. The boy - still rocking a bit- nodded. His eyes kept shifting and his hands grasped at his pants tightly. Seemed the boy really wasn’t comfortable with being alone, but didn’t feel comfortable with his great great grandparents either. What a combination. But he’d dealt with this before. In less… bizarre circumstances, yes, but he had. “Here’s something, what is something you really want that you’re afraid to ask for that you feel might make you feel better?”

“…..” He looked down at his pants “… Jeans”

“Jeans?”

“… I don’t like the pants they keep buying. They’re super stiff and stuff” He shrugged, tapping his fingers “Can uh, can they come back?”

“Of course. Do you want to try to ask them about the jeans?”

“Uh, no.. not yet, I guess…”

Malcom got up, but went on his knees in front of Miguel “This is all up to you, Miguel. I might push you once or twice to try things, but if you really don’t want to we won’t”

Miguel nodded in understanding and Malcom got up, went to the door, and opened it. Unsurprisingly Héctor and Imelda were seated closest to the door.

Malcom silently thanked the contractors that sound proofed his office.

“He’d like for you two to come back in”

The two were on their feet and in the room before he could blink

He sighed a bit, leaning on the door as Miguel’s hands reached for Hector. Imedla looked on at them before looking back to Malcom “What happened?”

“We just talked for a few moments. He wanted to tell me about a few things” He explained vaguely. Imelda huffed, but didn’t ask further.

“ Did he tell you anything… compromising?” She seemed to try to scan his eyes

“Anything he says I cannot divulge to anyone unless he gives me express permission, Señora” Malcom explained “But I feel like I’m getting to the heart of the problem. I’ll start writing down a more concrete plan for his recovery and mental well being going forward”

“Good, good” she nodded in approval “How soon will you have this… plan?”

“It might take some time, but I’ll have a rough outline in a few weeks. I’m a little backed up on clients currently so please be patient” He walked back behind his desk “Any more questions?”

There was a collective shaking of heads. “Then I will see you all week after next on Monday”

“…What? Why not next week?” Hectors confused face nearly made Malcom chuckle

“I sent a letter and left a message on your answering machine nearly two weeks ago concerning this.” He grabbed a file off of his desk and turned to put it away “Passover starts tomorrow and I am taking time off” He clarified

“… You’re Jewish?” Miguel asked, furrowing his brow.

Malcom finally let out that chuckle as he turned back to face them, and reached under his shirt, where a star of David necklace dangled “We’re a minority here in the land of the dead, but there’s enough of us.” He explained “Enough to be.. Passed over”

There was an unbearable pause after that before Imelda finally broke it

“Well… Happy holiday, doctor. We will see you Monday after next” She ushered the other Riveras out - Malcom noting that Miguel was only holding hands with Héctor, rather than clinging to him.

It was always nice to see progress


	4. Another Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Brief chapter where we see things from Imelda’s perspective. Sorry this is so short, but the next chapter is probably gonna be a big one or at the very least heavy so I wanted to give ya’ll a bit from outside the Psychology office

If you asked Imelda, she’d tell you that Miguel’s progress was very promising.

Though in all honesty it felt close to miraculous

Those first two months were what could charitably be considered rough for everyone involved, Miguel especially. Watching a child she’d seen so active and jovial when he was alive collapse in on himself and become a mute, shy, terrified boy felt nearly broke her heart. It was the driving force behind her push to get him to a psychologist. The psychologist in question… well she could think about that another time.

Now, she was watching Miguel play. Yes, play. A guitar. It was a shallow, simple melody and he wasn’t really playing with his heart and soul, but he was playing. Julio was beaming as he watched - having requested the tune, and when Miguel let out a quiet chuckle as he finished and looked up at Julio with a tiny grin Imelda could feel herself melting inside a little.

It was nothing more than a hint, a taste of what full recovery and happiness was for the boy, but it was enough to be encouraging…. and concerning.

Now, there was a nagging part of Imelda that wanted nothing more than to smack a little sense into herself. Miguel’s recovery and improvement was a net positive, of course! Seeing him able to engage in conversation and not have to cling so desperately to Héctor was a joy to see, it really was

But with the return of Miguel’s social skills came the return of what she knew would always be a part of him. That good ol’ Rivera Stubbornness™. And with -that- came an extreme concern

Could he be expected to keep his… origins…. a secret?

That nagging section of her conscience told her “Of course!” He was a very intelligent boy, and he knew that his actions had consequences. He’d lived them. He was still living through them. He’d never be able to forget. The question though was: Is it enough?

Her mind connected that thought to her husband’s account of his incident. How Miguel had made an excuse to run away. How he’d wanted to tell the truth, no matter the cost.

A noble endeavor, admittedly… if fundamentally flawed.

The cost would be his family’s reputation. His family’s security. Héctor and Imelda’s hard and difficult work wasted because the truth was an ugly thing.

And if Héctor could not convince Miguel that it was best kept under wraps, then she would

.. But there was always the very, very distinct possibility that someone is going to have to know

And that someone, was the good doctor

Now, to be clear. She did not hate Doctor Kevgil. She disliked him, but she did not hate him. He did his job well, and there was a reason he was recommended.

But she was having trouble in a key area - he had very little “dirt” to dig up

She needed leverage. Something to hold up in case he thought about being “righteous” if Miguel ever told him the truth.

But what did he have?

There was his homosexuality. But not only was he open and proud of this, but he also had no partner that they could hold against him.

He was a well respected doctor in his field, and his only vice - his love of going to clubs on his off days had dug up no illicit behavior or bad habits.

He was a good young man taken before his time, helping others and enjoying his afterlife.

Her people had dug up absolutely nothing. Most of his family wasn’t dead yet, the ones that were had not crossed into this afterlife. They’d gone to Gan Eden.

As Miguel and Hector made their way back into the music room to return the guitar, her brow furrowed in thought as she considered this predicament. And then it came to her.

He had nothing. No one. His only real, tangible possession in the land of the dead was his practice- his office.

He had so little to lose…

Now, that was something to think about.

…. Only as a last resort, of course.

When Miguel and Hector returned she noticed Miguel was looking directly at her, and seemed… nervous.

“Uh, Mamá Imelda? Papa Héctor?”

“Si, Mijo?” Hector responded before Imelda could

“Could uh… i know this is weird to ask but uh…” Miguel looked down at his boots, then back up again “Could I get some jeans?”

There was a pause before Imelda let out a light, airy laugh “Oh of course, Mijo. Any clothing you like, we can get for you” She assured. The relief on the boys face bordered on cathartic for the great-great grandparents.

“Heh, Doctor Malcom was right, its not that hard to just ask” He said as he let his shoulders relax. Héctor looked over to Imelda, and then partially smiled

That last resort was seeming pretty far away, with how Miguel was doing…

… Didn’t mean she’d throw the idea out, however. She just needed to call a lawyer.


	5. A Brave Twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit is *really* gonna start hitting the fan now, guys. IDK if ya’ll’re ready for what i’ve got coming next lmao. Even if the next update takes 100000 years askdjalksdj

The atmosphere in the room was rather light, currently. Sunshine filtered in through the curtains and Miguel was lying back on the couch, breathing deeply and seeming unbelievably peaceful

Malcom hated that he was going to have to ruin this image.

“…Miguel?”

“Hm?” Miguel looked away from the window, where a bird alebrije was preening.

“Are you enjoying the quiet time?” He asked, taking off his reading glasses. He’d been going over his notes in the silence.

“… Yeah” Miguel nodded

In the past few weeks Miguel and Malcom had come up with the idea of “quiet time”, where Miguel gets to stay in his office only with Malcom to breathe, look around, and relax. This meant no actual therapy took place, but Malcom had a sneaking feeling that Miguel didn’t get a lot of quiet time at home. It had proven absolutely invaluable to the boy - Imelda commenting that he seemed calmer and slept through the night more often (though she said this with Hector begrudgingly agreeing). Sometimes a non threatening and specific amount of calm time helps. Like a form of meditation almost.

“…. Then I think its time we started really getting into this” Malcom stated “I think today, we should talk about it”

“….Ttalk about what?” Miguel shifted, sitting back up.

“You know, Miguel. I think it’s time we talked about the day you died”

There was a moment of silence. Miguel tugged at his jeans.

“… Do we have to?”

“Yes, Miguel” Malcom asserted gently “Talking about your trauma openly and honestly is a big step towards betterment.”

Miguel looked away from him, then back at him, then away from him again. “I don’t… think I should”

“… Why is that?”

“Uh…. because” Miguel stared down at his knees

“Thats not an answer, Miguel”

“B-because!!” Miguel looked out the window

“Because.. What?”

“I can’t” he muttered

“Can’t, or won’t?”

Miguel took a moment, shutting his “eyes” in contemplation before looking right at Malcom, his expression bordering on unreadable

“… Can’t”

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, Malcom looking directly into the boys eyes and trying to read

There was fear there. Apprehension as well.

“… Will there ever be a time when you can?” Malcom asked, carefully.

“….. No se, senor” Miguel answered honestly, looking almost… defeated.

“… Well… I hope that one day you can” The psychologist started “ I can’t help you, not completely, if I don’t know the whole story”

Miguel nodded “… Can I have more quiet time?”

“Of course, Miguel. You still have 15 minutes”

Miguel lied himself down again, this time turning away from everything and curling in on himself. Malcom took a quiet breath and looked back at his notes, grabbing a pen and wrote some things down.

15 minute passed and Malcom announced it, causing Miguel to sit up and straighten out

“.. Miguel, I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable” Malcom apologized, getting up from his desk

“I-it’s okay” Miguel assured

Malcom sat himself on the ground, coming to Miguel’s level “Its not” He asserted “You aren’t ready and I tried to push you. Its okay that i was wrong” he assured.

Miguel seemed to be processing Malcom’s words for a minute.

“… I’m going to go get your grandparents.” Malcom voiced, getting up and headed towards the door

“Okay..”

Malcom opened the door and motioned them in “We’re done with quiet time and talk. I think he would like to go home”

They didn’t even speak to Malcom as they escorted the boy out, though Imelda looked at him with a rather cryptic nod before leaving.

Malcom leaned against his desk quietly, contemplating Miguel’s words to him…

It was more concerning, than anything

–

His phone was ringing at 3:34 AM

Why?

Sure, he was a skeleton but he quite enjoyed sleep, thanks.

Grunting slightly as he sat up, he grabbed at the landline and picked up

“… This is Malcom” he answered groggily

“… Doctor?”

The young voice at the other end of the line woke the man right up

“… Miguel?”

“.. I had to wait until they were sleeping” The boy whispered. His voice was tense and slightly high pitched

“What happened, Miguel?” Malcom asked quietly, keeping his voice even.

“You said you needed the truth, so I can be better, right?”

.. Malcom did not like where this was going

“Yes, Miguel. I do”

“… Then I gotta tell you”

He heard Miguel adjusting in whatever seat he was in. Where had this boy gotten a phone?

“Its a lie”

“… What is a lie?”

“How I died”

Malcom wished he was surprised

“De La Cruz didn’t hold me hostage thats not- not what happened” Miguel paused for a moment before he continued “i….. he did it”

“.. Who did it?”

“Papa Hector, he- he did it”

Malcom could almost swear he felt his nonexistent heart stop. Miguel continued, almost rambling

“I-i found out about De La Cruz and - and I wanted to go home I just wanted - and he trapped me in a room and I-”

“Miguel, Miguel breathe, just breathe” Malcom interrupted and the boy paused, breathing heavily into the phone.

There was a moment of quiet as Miguel breathed. Malcom was grateful for it. He needed a few moments to process the information he’d just been given.

“Thank you for telling me, Miguel. I know that this is a big deal” He told the boy- slightly wincing at his own clinical tone. “How about you talk to me about this on Monday?”

“I-i had to tell you now” Miguel stressed “But they can’t- they can’t know you know they’ll- They’ve got all this-…” Miguel stopped himself “… I just wanna be happy again”

Malcom took a moment to contemplate an answer “If you want to be, you will be” He reassured “Now, please go back to bed. Don’t want you getting in trouble, Miguel”

“Si, doctor” Miguel paused again “Uh, sorry for waking you up, I guess”

“No apology needed, Miguel”

And the boy hung up.

Malcom made a disgruntled noise and put a hand through his hair. He was realizing he’d been wrong. Everything he’d assumed had to be rewritten. He was starting -maybe not from square one, but square 4 or 5.

Boy, this case just got worse and worse, didn’t it?


	6. The Party Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …. I have not updated this since July i am SO SORRY AKSJFSDLKJF But i hope you like the chapter! Theres only like, 3 or 4 more parts i think so this is actually like, the home stretch, almost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised that I am copy pasting everything as posted when I originally put it on Tumblr lol

Sometimes, all you need to do to reorient yourself is to get some pent up emotion out

And Malcom’s favorite way to do that was to party

Now, to clarify, partying for Malcom does not mean “getting drunk until you’re seeing double”.

For Malcom, partying was dancing, drinking maybe one or two drinks, and socializing. Maybe even a little flirting if he was in the mood. One of his friends had called him a “wholesome” partier, and he couldn’t really argue with that.

Malcom’s go-to club was called “La Viva”. It was bright, colorful, and well kept by a man who had run an 80s night club in life. Perfect for Malcom, a man who would never really leave his beloved 80s behind. The outside was surprisingly benign- colored pink with a few rainbow banners and a green neon Sign reading LA VIVA in script, followed by a white lighted up lilly. Inside however, was where the party lived. 

The dance floor in La Viva was the main attraction. Shining and sparkling, it reflected light from the various colored stagelamps that blinked and shuttered, alighting the room without ever having to turn on any of the (Emergency) overhead lamps. It was also absolutely massive, taking up more room than it probably should have. The bar was squeezed into a corner, with barely over a dozen seats and there were benches and tables strewn along the edges. But if you came to La Viva, you came to dance.

Which made local disaster Rodrigo Rivera a complete anomaly in this bright and flashy entertainment center.

But hey, he’d been invited.

And, while trying to get his boney butt to the bar, he was bumped into so hard they both ended up clattering to the floor

“Oh, sorry about- ay! Hey there!”

Rui got up and looked at who he’d bumped into - suddenly grinning

“Ayyyyy Malcom! Great to see you!” He managed to get up at the same time as his acquaintance.

“How are you, partying as always?” Malcom asked - no sense of judgement in his voice that Rui usually heard when asked that question. It was a note about the man he appreciated.

“As always” he answered with an almost sheepish grin. “Yourself?”

“Eh, needed to destress” The doctor shrugged.

“You, destress? I’ve never known you to be stressed, Doctor” Rui chuckled.

“We all have our stresses, Amigo” Malcom grinned “Care to dance?”

“As tempting an offer that is, I’ve got a date with a bottle of tequila”

“Not the entire thing, I hope”

“Eh, we’ll see how I feel”

Malcom didn’t seem that impressed, but shrugged “See you around then!”

Rui waved him off and went over to the bar, bemusedly being served a daiquiri as he watched the glowing dance floor. 

But then, from the corner of his eye, he spotted a very, very familiar silhouette.

He froze in his stool, watching with shock as the tall, imposing figure started to gaze about the room.

Rui put his drink down, brow furrowed. Who the hell was Tomas here for?

He tried not to catch the burly skeleton’s eye, and watched as “Tomas” stared intently at the dance floor… more specifically at a particular, blonde haired dancer.

“…. Oh, compadre, what did you get yourself into…?” Rui muttered, taking his eyes away, a vague guilt to his aura.

Malcom didn’t get a lot of time on the dance floor, regretfully. Though Tomas had the decency to wait until the song was over to go out on the dance floor.

“Doctor Kevgil, your presence is required”

Malcom looked up at the man now towering over him, very quickly realizing that this wasn’t a good thing.

“… Que?” his brow furrowed “Where?”

“Private room. It will only take a few minutes”

He stared skeptically for a few moments

“Is this a “please come” or a “Come before I force you”

Tomas shrugged. Quite the answer.

Malcom sighed, and nodded to the taller man, following him off of the dance floor and over to one of the private party rooms - usually rented out for…. rather saucy events. Tomas opened the door for him, and he walked in the mostly dark room - save for some neon glaring from the ceiling, bathing the room in an almost chilled blue.

Sitting on one of the plush couched.. Was Imelda Rivera.

Malcoms brow furrowed slightly “Senora Rivera?”

“Senor Kevgil” She motioned “Please, sit”

He weighed his options… and sat.  
“How are you this evening?”

“.. I am very well, Senora” he answered “And yourself? This sort of place doesn’t seem your style?”

“Oh, it certainly isn’t, though this particular club has more… prestige than most” She pointed out, taking a glass and sipping “Drink?”

“Oh, no thank you. I rarely drink when I go out dancing” He shook his head

“Hm” she sniffed slightly, putting her drink down “We understand that Miguel called you about a week ago”

Malcom didn’t visibly react to the declaration “That he did. Very early in the morning at that”

“.. And what was it about?”

“I’m afraid I cannot divulge that information unless it is life or death, Senora” the doctor proclaimed “Doctor - patient confidentiality, and all that”

Her expression didn’t change “Hm, well then I will assume the worst and prepare things accordingly”

“The worst?” Malcom narrowed his stare.

“Well, you see, Doctor” She started, staring at her drink in vague disinterest “Our family has much to keep to ourselves. We’re very private, you see. And anything that Miguel told you, cannot be divulged to the public.”

“I had no intention of bringing anything he told me public”

“Let me finish” She snapped at him, something approximating a sneer on her face. Malcom almost wanted to comment about the quote of how “ugly hate makes the face”, but kept it to himself. That sort of joke would not be appreciated.

“Now, I understand that you carry yourself and your practice completely seriously, and with much pride” She sipped her drink “So i will state this plainly for your benefit.”

Malcom squared his shoulders

“Should you attempt anything, we will sue you for malpractice”

She stared him straight in the eyes  
“… Excuse me?”

“… I said, we are suing you for malpractice. It’s very easy to get a competent lawyer who can come up with a case. All we have to do is imply that your promise of progress was not met. That he has .. how do you say, “regressed”?”

Malcom wished he had a lip to bite. It took everything within him to not react. To keep his head level.

“… Are you threatening me, Senora Rivera?”

“I would never. It is just a warning.” She pushed her liquor away “You have no family, no lover, nothing but your practice. Would be a shame if you lost everything, no?”

“That is quite the warning, Senora” He lifted his head slightly.

“We Riveras never do anything halfway, Doctor”

He took in a breath, and stood “I understand your… concern, Senora” he started “But allow me to give a warning of my own”

He found her glare almost daring.

“If you truly want for Miguel’s happiness, you will have to end up doing things you don’t want to do. Acknowledge things you would rather sweep under the rug” Malcom leveled “One day, it will all some to a head-” he turned “and you will refuse to admit that you saw it coming. Have a good evening, Senora, Buenas Noches”

And he left, returning to the bright lights of the dance floor.

He wasn’t followed.


	7. A Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey look this came out quick. I’m on a writing binge askjksaj

They’d hit what could very graciously be called a plateau.

Two more months had passed, and the progress had been slowed to a crawl. Malcom’s private time with Miguel was mostly quiet time, save for small conversations where Miguel admitted that he was sorry to Malcom. And Malcom replied the same way, every time

“Miguel, you did the exact right thing. Never, ever apologize”

And he meant it.

Miguel had absolutely done the right thing in admitting the truth. If only his family wasn’t so dead set on their damn reputation.

Heh, “dead” set.

This visit felt a little more tense than usual, with Miguel watching the window as a fiesta raged in the nearby square.

Malcom watched the boy, and decided to speak

“Have you ever been to any of the plaza fiestas?”

“Uh… only once.. When I first came..?” Miguel answered quietly

Malcom tapped his pen lightly “Would you like to go?”

“… Maybe”

“Well, how about you ask?”

“.. Ask? I can’t-… I can’t just ask”

“Why not?” Malcom asked, leaning forward slightly. He didn’t miss how Miguel looked over at the door. “Think they’ll say no?”

“… Yes” Miguel answered, defeat in his tone

“Are you sure?”

“….” Miguel actually thought for a minute “Yes”

“Well, why do you feel that way?” The doctor asked.

“Because they don’t like me being out in public” Miguel explained “They’re afraid that i won’t be able to handle it”

“Is there any truth to that?”

“… Usually… when we’re in crowds I get a little… antsy”

“And why is that, Miguel?”

“Uh… well… I feel like they’re staring at me. Cause.. They know what happened” Miguel further elaborated.

“Ah… and you care that they stare?”

“I feel like they’re judging me” he replied

“And so what if they are?” The doctor replied back

“…..” Miguel just looked at his hands, flexing the digits. He seemed almost angry.

Malcom looked back down at the fiesta. His office had a rather nice view straight into the square, where the live band had left and been replaced with Karaoke.

And he suddenly got an idea.

“Stay up here. I have to do something quickly.” Malcom got up from his desk. “Watch the fiesta” He instructed. He ignored Miguel’s perplexed stare before exiting his office.

“I will return shortly” He told the waiting grandparents (and his secretary) before leaving the office and walking down his stairs.

He had the smarts to take off his coat, but he still didn’t look very party- esque. That didn’t matter really, though. He saw the karaoke sign up, and (sneakily) put himself as next, with a song that he knew would get a reaction… whether or not it was a good reaction or a bad one would be found out later.

He got up on the stage and grinned, taking the mic.

He was glad he lost most of his dignity when he went to his first pride.

“You’re all going to hate me after this” He joked, and the crowd laughed.

And once the song started, most of the crowd cheered.

He was silently glad that they weren’t quite as sick of this song as he’d heard, before going straight into singing it.

Lucky for him, Despacito was a easy song to sing. In the reverie of the crowd a few where even singing along. And the man when all out despite in inherent ability to carry the tune for more than a couple of bars. Musical, he was not. But he had a blast as he made an absolute fool of himself.

When it was over there was a cheer from the crowd, and he left the fiesta among laughter and teasing from the crowd. He walked back up, and made his way to his office.

He was greeted by Imelda, Hector, and Miguel- Miguel looking at him with wide eyes.

“… What was that?” Hector asked, he seemed to be trying to stifle a laugh.

“A man is entitled to a break” he shrugged off

“You made a fool of yourself!” Imelda felt the need to point out

“Indeed I did”

Malcom could see the cogs turning in Miguel’s head.

“Would you like the rest of our time, Miguel?” He offered the boy.

“Uh, no I uh, I think I wanna go home” Miguel answered, still seemingly to be piecing things together.

“Of course, Mijo. Lets go” Hector assured, hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“But- um” Miguel stopped “Can uh.. Can we go see the Fiesta? Just to see it” He asked, his voice just barely raising.

There was a pause.

“.. Sure, Mijo. I’ll get you some churros”

Miguel’s smile brightened up the whole room as the family left.

Malcom sighed contentedly. Progress, at last.

He looked to Penelopa “….. Don’t tell me”

“Of course I recorded that, Doctor.” The secretary held up an camcorder his mother would have owned back in the 80s

he sighed in defeat.


	8. Bisabuelo's Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow look another update. Its a miracle of science - then again this is a brief chapter - a digression, really

There had been a change, in Miguel

And Hector couldn’t tell if he liked it or not.

He’d started playing his guitar more, but he flat out refused to play in front of everyone. Why?

“Cause I just… want it to be mine”

Malcom explained that Miguel needs to feel like he has at least some semblance of possession - even if its physical objects. He needs some sort of “independent” time and hobbies.

Imelda was a little more on board with it than Hector was, surprisingly.

“If we don’t give him these little freedoms… he might get rebellious” Imelda warned

And Hector understood that.

But he almost missed the boy clinging to him.

Which was horrible, and he shouldn’t think that… but he did.

So there he was, listening to his grandson through the door of his bedroom as he played a few simple chords

There was a part of Hector that wondered if his grandsons desire for privacy had come from the initial clinging he’d done. Perhaps this was some kind of balancing act? That wasn’t how his doctor had described it. 

“Every child needs independence. He told me that he had a lot of leeway when he was alive in Santa Cecilia, and then, when down here, it was almost all stripped away.” The doctor had explained. “You don’t need to give him that immediately, but you have to trust him”

Trust him? He had to trust Miguel.

And he knew that he couldn’t

That boy had called the doctor late at night - he’d told him. Made a liability out of the well meaning doctor.

Imelda had… spoken… with him, and had assured her husband that he would not spill.

In fact, He’d noticed that she seemed to trust the man more now, which was bizarre.

He definitely didn’t. If anything, it only heightened his anxiety.

A cavalcade of what ifs and worst fears

But… his grandson was playing again.

How bad could this man be if he’d caused so much positive progress, even if the selfish part of Hector wanted the reassurance of the boy clinging to him.

He huffed a bit as the song ended, and he heard the shifting sounds of what he assumed was Miguel putting away the guitar for the day.Hector checked the time - oh, it was nearly time for his appointment.

Hector straightened himself out and knocked on the door “Mijo?”

“Si?”

“Are you ready for your appointment with Doctor Kevgil?”

“Un momento, Papa Hector!”

He sounded lighter, happier.

Hector really, really should be grateful

But alas

He was admittedly a selfish man.


	9. A Rest at The Cliff's Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot continues to inch along…

Malcom knew that this would all come to a head eventually. He just didn’t know when.

And it was a balancing act of the worst kind to see if he could spot it, and mitigate it when it happened.

The first hint was when Miguel wanted to perform, but he wanted to do it in a small Plaza, not at home.

And he wanted Malcom there

Imelda seemed far more willing than Hector was at the prospect- Hector seemingly to purposefully make mountains out of molehills, so to speak.

“You cannot keep catastrophizing like that” 

“What?”

“What you’re doing is called “catastrophizing”. It’s taking something mundane and turning into a world-ending catastrophe - hence, catastrophizing” Malcom further explained

“.. I am doing nothing of the sort” Hector weakly argued

“What is the worst thing that Miguel could do, or could happen to Miguel if he performed in the Plaza?”

Hectors eyes searched the room, his wife’s hand finding his “We have to let Miguel take this step, love. I am just as … reluctant as you are” Her eyes found Malcom.

Something had occurred that night at the club when she confronted him. Perhaps it was how he stood up to her, but still agreed to the terms. His tightrope walk. She… perhaps respect is too strong a word.

But it was something.

“But - the public might-”

“I don’t care, Papa Hector!” Miguel stood up suddenly, causing the adults to snap their attention back to him

“If Doctor Kevgil can sing badly in the plaza, I can play”

Malcom had to fight to keep down an indignant laugh “Was I that bad, Miguel?”

“… A little”

Malcom prided himself on not laughing, but couldn’t hide a smirk. “I’m glad my singing encouraged you, nino”

Miguel looked back up at his great-great grandfather, his large eyes and frown forming a very formidable pouty face that anyone would have a problem saying no too.

And while Hector still didn’t like this… he relented.

Malcom asked for a moment to tell his secretary the plans, and in the few seconds without the doctor there, Hector shared another look with Imelda.

“We have to let him do this, Amor” She reasoned “Every step is a good step”

And so, the quartet made their way out of the office, and down in the Plaza below.

Miguel sat at the fountain-side, staring at his guitar for a few moments with a deep sigh

He looked to Hector, then Imelda, then Malcom before adjusting his fingers, and strummed a quick chord to check the sound of the guitar.

And he played.

It wasn’t anything dramatic, or complex. Just “un Poco Loco” Played just a beat slower, but Miguel’s focused showed his love of the craft, and Malcom felt…honored, to be hearing him.

The song ended as quietly as it started and the boy was greeting with quiet applause, causing him to chuckle shyly.

“How was it?” he asked, looking up at his great-great-grandparents and doctor.

“Well, I’m no musician, but I thought it sounded wonderful” Malcom started, looking over at the other adults.

“Beautiful mijo, beautiful” Imelda complimented, drawing her grandson into a hug.

The boy hugged back, and Imelda’s heart soared.

“Thank you Mama Imelda”

Imelda just smiled, and looked over to Hector expectantly, who was still trying to stop his eyes from getting glassy - moreso than they already were.

“Oh! Oh, yes that was, that was excellent, Chamaco. Brilliant even. I’m so pro-proud of you” He forced out, managing to sound mostly even.

“Heh… grasias” Miguel responded with a shy smile.

Malcom sighed, a slight grin about him.

The edge was coming, yes. But all small victories deserve a little celebration.

He’d hold off his worry, for the time being.


	10. Crashing Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions begin to crest….

Miguel was so, so tired 

And today, that was meant literally.

He hadn’t gone to therapy, but there had been a party. A Dia De los Muertos pre-party. His first one here since… everything.

Mama Imelda had explained to him that they were throwing the party today, so that they could go over the bridge tomorrow. A mention of the bridge caused a lump to form in Miguel’s nonexistent throat, but he reminded himself that he was loved, and pushed away the anxiety. A tip from Doctor Kevgil.

”Sometimes, Miguel, you’ll be anxious, and you’ll forget something simple, but important. So it helps to tell yourself some simple, important things” The doctor explained a few weeks prior “I am valued, I am loved, I am a person with feelings. I deserve to be happy- things like that” 

It had been one of the doctors most helpful tips.

And tomorrow would be the day. He’d get to see his family again.

He could still feel the anxiousness seeping into his bones.

It would be fine, right? Totally fine.

It had been totally fine

Completely fine

Beyond fine, really

It almost made him… angry.

The entire time they were visiting his living family, there was silence. No conversation, no nothing. No one argued, or cried, or anything

It nearly drove Miguel mad, because the living family was crying.

His mother and father has set up an ofrenda for him, separate from the rest of the family.

His sister had been born. Her name was Socorro. And while Miguel didn’t think much of babies, he had decided, while she was reaching for his photo and giggling at the flowers surrounding his ofrenda, that she was definitely the best baby ever.

But… perhaps the worst part of all of this… was that it didn’t have to be this way.

It hit him all at once as he heard his father tell little Socorro about her “amazing big brother, Miguel” who would have “absolutely loved you, so, so much”

Because he did, he did absolutely love her so, so much

And he could have been there

He should have been there

…. And they’d never said sorry.

That was what he thought really bothered him about the whole thing. There was no changing the fact that he was dead. But… maybe if Papa Hector had said sorry. Really, really meant it, too.

But Papa Hector would never say sorry. Not really.

And Miguel knew it was because he wasn’t sorry. He did what he thought was right, even though it was wrong.

The boy covered his head with a pillow, trembling at the thoughts running through his head.

Whenever he had racing thoughts, the doctors 5 step calm down always helped, but he struggled to remember the process and order. He struggled to process most of his thoughts. It was all just racing, racing, *racing*.

_“He’ll never say he’s sorry”_

_“He’ll never admit it was wrong”_

_“Papa Hector is selfish”_

_“You’ll never be happy until he admits what he did was wrong”_

Miguel paused at that particular thought.

It was something he’d thought about before, but that he’d pushed away because.. Well, he didn’t think it was possible. But Doctor Malcom had told him that problems with other people have to be solved on both sides if you still want to know the person.

_“It’s like this” Malcom had started “Let’s say you and I get in an argument about…. Say, ice cream flavors. I think you’re wrong in thinking that Vanilla is the best flavor. I say strawberry is”_

_“Strawberry is gross”_

_Malcom snorted “Not the point, nino”_

_“Sorry”_

_“Nothing to be sorry for” Malcom placated “Now, in order for us to still be friends. We have to accept that we have different opinions”_

_Miguel nodded, following along_

_“But If I say that it’s okay that you don’t like Strawberry, but don’t actually think so, then we haven’t actually resolved the problem. Me apologizing for saying that you’re dumb for something that you like Vanilla isn’t sincere, because I wasn’t honest”_

_“But… how will i know you’re honest?” Miguel asked, brow furrowed_

_“Well, that can be hand to tell. But the important part is that I follow through on that apology and never say you’re dumb. But… sometimes it can be really obvious when someone is insincere. Wanna know an easy way to tell?”_

_Miguel nodded, almost looking too eager._

_“ If that person can look you in the eye every time but when he says sorry, its not sincere” Malcom explained “If they can look you in the eye at any other time, but not when they’re trying to be honest with you? They’re not being honest”_

Miguel mulled over those words for days after, and it was hitting him in waves yet again.

Papa Hector almost never made eye contact. He did it with almost everyone else.. But not him.

Miguel could feel himself trembling slightly.

He shut his eyes, he willed the thoughts away

But one lingered, almost taunting

_“You won’t be happy till he means it”_


	11. Rolling Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solutions are put forward…

4:34 in the morning was not a fun time to get a phone call. The call would never, ever be good at that hour.

“Mmmh- Kevgil” The doctor grumbled slightly, trying to wake him up

“I’m calling on behalf of the Riveras. Your presence is required” The unknown voice spoke

“… It is 4:30 in the morning.” He commented, sitting up “What is the emergency?”

“Miguel has barricaded himself in his room, and will not speak to anyone”

Malcom paused

“…. Does anyone know why?”

There was a fumbling sound, and a much more familiar voice came through the phone

“He was fine during Dia De Los Muertos, and was quiet but.. okay through most of yesterday, but sometime last night he locked and barricaded his door with his dresser. Hector went to check on him to make sure he’d fallen asleep at around 2 but the boy had already locked himself away” Imelda explained “You are the only person we can think of that might be able to get through to him.”

This was it, Malcom realized. The cliffs edge, the bad part. He started to stand “I will be there soon. Tell him that I am coming, if you can. And tell him to practice our breathing exercises” He instructed

“…. Thank you” Imelda quickly responded.

She’d come a long way, he realized.

“I would not thank me just yet, Senora. Things might get worse before they get better. Hasta Luego” And he hung up, going for his closet.

He didn’t have the luxury of looking professional this time, so he grabbed an old pair of jeans and the sweater he’d died in. The soft fabric hadn’t faded with time - as is the case in the land of the dead so long as you are remembered. The 80s neon and patterns always comforted him when nothing else could.

He’d worn it just last week, telling friends about his frustrations with “a few clients”

Now he’d wear it confronting those clients. What fun. 

He made his way quietly through the towering land, not putting much thought into anything - he wanted to get a full picture of the situation before starting down the “find a solution” line of thinking.

He arrived at the Rivera Estate on foot, and when a worker saw him walking through the gates, he was ushered through the wide, empty halls and up a few flights of stairs to a conglomeration of people.

Imelda, Hector, and one of their grand-daughters - Victoria was her name, he was pretty sure

Malcom cut right to the chase

“Any progress?” He asked quietly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Miguel to know he was here just yet.

Imelda shook her head. “I told him about your breathing exercises, but he has not responded to us at all”

“Then perhaps he is doing them. Can he hear us clearly through the door?” He asked, looking at the small crowd in front of the door, Hector being the standout of the group- staring at the door with a heated anger.

“Raise your voice just a touch and we are certain that you can” Imelda further explained.

“Hm…. and he hasn’t said anything?”

“Not that we have heard” She answered.

Malcom furrowed his brow looking over at the door. “Who got here first?”

“Hector” she answered

Malcom simply nodded, before pausing for a moment

“I’m going to try to talk to him”

Imelda sighed, looking at the door “You told me that we would reach the edge, and refuse to see it coming, Doctor” she rubbed her tired eye sockets “… You were correct”

Malcom didn’t respond, but they shared a brief look before he walked over to the door, raising his voice slightly

“Miguel? Its Doctor Kevgil. Your bisabuela called for me. Are you there?” He waited a moment “You don’t have to speak, but can you knock to let me know you’re listening?”

There was a moment… and then a knock

“.. Okay, you don’t have to talk. But… one knock for yes, two for no. is That okay?”

One knock.

Malcom smiled slightly. “Did you do our breathing exercises?”

Knock

“Did they help?”

Knock

“Good, good…. Do you want to talk?”

There was a long, awkward pause.

A single knock

“.. Okay” Malcom nodded to himself “It’s just going to be me, okay? No one else.” He assured, looking over at Imelda and Hector.

Hector looked less than pleased “Why can you go in?”

“He trusts me” Malcom answered succinctly

Hector puffed out his chest. The indigence in his stance nearly made Malcom cringe, but Imelda luckily pushed him back, gently.

“Amor, let him go… We have to get Miguel out of there”

The clenched fists didn’t relax, but he stood still.

Malcom’s eyes stayed on the couple while he opens the door, just slightly. Just enough. He made brief eye contact with Hector before he walked in.

The room was…. Big. It was big, and empty. There was a bed, a dresser, vanity, and a guitar stand. With the lights off, he couldn’t tell what colors the room was supposed to be, but his initial vision was not promising.

Miguel, for his part, was seated on the bed with his legs crossed, eyes glassy with tears that could technically no longer be shed.

Malcom let his posture relax.

“… Buenas Noches, Miguel”

“… Buenas Noches” His voice was raw “.. Did y’know you can’t cry?”

Malcom exhaled, and sat himself a respectful distance away from Miguel, at the edge of the bed.

“You can cry, Miguel.. You just doesn’t have tears. It doesn’t mean you don’t cry”

“… Doesn’t feel like crying” The boy simply retorted.

Malcom simply nodded “I understand…. Now..” The man turned slightly, putting one leg up on the bed “… Why am I here, Miguel?”

Miguel didn’t initially respond. He clenched and unclenched his fists, twitched a bit, and his eyes looked anywhere but Malcom

“Miguel”

The boy’s eyes snapped back to the doctor

“Please, Miguel. Tell me why I’m here”

“… He’ll never be sorry” Miguel announced

“.. Who will never be sorry?” The man asked, feeling he knew the answer

“… Papa Hector” The boy nearly wheezed “He… he did this to me… and he’ll never be sorry”

Malcom kept his expression even. But he knew where he was.

They were over the cliff.

“… Why will he never be sorry?” 

“Because… he thinks what he did was right” Miguel forced out the explanation “Because even if it… hurt me, he thinks it was best for… the families reputation… the legacy is all he cares about”

“.. You think that he doesn’t care about you”

“… I know it”

“How do you know it?”

“… He never means his sorrys” Miguel answered, hoping Malcom knew what he meant.

Fortunately, Malcom did

“That’s very helpful, Miguel. Thank you. But that doesn’t explain why you locked yourself in your room.” He worded carefully,

“….. Angry”

Malcom took a chance, and put his hand on Miguel’s back.

“You’re angry?”

Miguel nodded.

“You’re angry at him”

The boy nodded again.

“…. What do you want to do about that anger?” Malcom asked.

The boy looked up at him, finally

And voiced exactly what he wanted.

–

About 45 minutes later, he left the room, closing the door right behind him, and turning to the group that had been waiting.

“How was he?” Imelda asked.

“…. He was upset and angry”

“At what?” She asked, Hector looking at her, before looking back at him.

Malcom looked at Hector, and took a breath. “You, mostly”

“…. Me?” The man looked genuinely shocked.

“Yes, you” Malcom responded, perhaps with more aggression than needed, but at this point, this was more than just an appointment, or a patient. “Because you killed him and he knows you don’t feel sorry for it”

The silence that followed that statement felt scarier than anything Hector could have replied with.

“… How do we fix it?”

Malcom felt the need to do a double take, but didn’t “… Excuse me?”

“How do we fix it?” The man aggressed

“… Do you feel sorry?” Malcom responded.

Hector’s shoulder’s straightened, his back taught, trying to appear taller. “… I did what I had to do “

“… But are you sorry that you did it?”

“…. I did what I had to do” Hector pressed

Malcom could finally, finally feel his composure crack, just slightly “You did not answer my question”

“*I did what I had to do”

“But are you sorry!?” Malcom nearly yelled

“No!” Hector nearly screamed back, panting just slightly.

Malcom took a deep breath, with his exhale, he felt his composure return “… Then there is no fixing it.”

Imelda stood in front of Hector, her hand pressing him back “How do we help Miguel, Doctor?” Her tone nearly begging.

“… He wants to leave” Malcom stated. “He’s scared of him”

The tension in Hectors shoulders warned the doctor to tread carefully.. But that seemed like an impossible task.

“Leave…” Imelda looked disheartened “Scared of him?”

“Extremely” Malcom admitted “He needs a place where he isn’t afraid to ask for something as inane as jeans”

Hector pushed Imelda’s hand away from him, reaching forward and getting a fistful of Malcom’s sweater

“You’re lying-!”

“Hector, para!”

“Let go of my shirt, Senor” Malcom exhaled

“You’re lying!” He shouted, shaking the doctor “What do you want with my Grandson!?”

“Hector!” Imelda shouted.

“Why do you immediately assume I have some sort of ulterior motive?”

Hectors hands trembled, readjusting his grip “.. You want to use him”

“For what?”

“To ruin us! You’re all the same!”

“ … Us?”

Malcom could start to feel things slot into place, so far as Hector was concerned.

“… You’re worried the minute he’s out of here, he’ll tell the entirety of the land of the dead what you did… You don’t trust him either”

“It’s you I don’t trust!” Hector countered

“Let me go” Malcom asserted, his voice firmer “Before I studied psychology, I nearly joined the army. I still recall most of my training, and I would hate to use it in such an emotionally charged moment”

Before the eldest Rivera could make the choice to respond, his wife spoke

“Hector… is this true?” Imelda asked, the heaviness of her voice causing Hector to pull away “You don’t trust him? You don’t trust our ninito?”

His lack of an answer - his aversion of her eyes, and his eventual weakened grip on Malcom’s shirt was way too much of a sign.

Malcom took a deep breath. “Is there any family member that doesn’t live in the hacienda? Or a family friend who could take him in?”

Victoria finally stepped forward, her eyes stern, but he could see that she was tired. “.. There is one”


	12. Follow-Up :: The Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A final look into how things will be…

Progress is not linear. 

That wasn’t something Malcom learned in school, oddly enough. He learned that from his own experience, when the HIV cost him his partner of 5 years. He only lived 4 years after that, but climbing from his grief was enough evidence - for him, anyway- that progress toward being okay was not linear, and that it was okay. It’s okay to regress for a little while. It’s okay to fall down a few times. You’re still moving forward. 

He took that lesson into his sessions, and for his clients. 

And he found that Miguel perhaps needed that advice more than any of the others. 

Once the child had been moved out of the house - left in the care of a particular outside relative, he told the Riveras that he could not be Miguel’s therapist any longer. 

“I’ve become too emotionally invested” he admitted “My judgement and help will be too biased - despite my interest in his betterment I might hurt more than I help. He needs a new therapist. I know just the woman” 

Doctor Annamaria Mezza was a capable, older woman with a long and respected stint as a child therapist in life, and now in death. Her and Malcom were not friends, per se, but there was a respect there, and she took up Miguel as her newest client at the man’s request after getting a rather brief and colorful summary of what had happened in the past year. Miguel would see her once a week, and she even started “prescribing” him time for meditation- something Malcom wouldn’t have attempted while the boy was in his previous home. 

But just because Malcom could no longer be the boy’s therapist, didn’t mean he’d stop being in the boy’s life. He was a bit to close for that at this point. 

And Fridays with Tio Malcom seemed like a good way to replace the appointments, didn’t it? 

Bad days? They’d talk. Good Days? They’d talk. 

Really bad days? They wouldn’t talk. Malcom would take Miguel to his office and they’d have quiet time. Miguel would rest on his couch, letting himself think out loud while Malcom filed paperwork, listening and sometimes commenting when he felt necessary. 

By god, this was such a long, long way from where they came. 

Now, while no one would call Rodrigo Rivera a great guardian in literally any context, having Malcom on his ass about the whole thing definitely helped him, and the poor usually-inebriated Rivera was more than willing to help Miguel once told the whole, entire, without-being-censored story from the psychologist. 

On a certain level, he knew how Miguel felt. 

And so, like it was some sort of very, very bizarre 90s sitcom, Rodrigo - while not completely getting his shit together- got enough of his shit together to take care of Miguel, with Malcom’s weekly visits and the much less frequent visits from Imelda and other members of the Riveras. Notably, Hector never showed. 

Even two months later, when Miguel said that he wanted to see him, the man wouldn’t show. 

“He needs more time” Imelda admitted “He is… seeing someone” 

That caught Malcom a bit off guard. He was seeing someone? Seeking help? 

Well, everyone can change, even if it takes time. 

Time slowed a bit once the routine was established. Days passed, Malcom took on new clients, spent one evening every week with his former client, and regularly talked over the phone with Rodrigo whenever the hapless man needed some help. He often didn’t - Miguel was pretty self sufficient. 

Until one day, he arrived to pick up Miguel for their time out, and a new face was in Rodrigo’s living room, holding Miguel to him like it was all he had. Miguel looked towards the door where he stood. 

“Oh, Hola Tio Malcom” The boy greeted. 

“…. You’re the doctor” 

Malcom smiled at him “I think I recognized your face from a foto. You are his father, Enrique?” he held his hand out, and received a firm shake. 

“Si, ah, I was told by my son that… you are able to help him tell the story of what happened” Enrique rubbed the boy’s shoulders, Miguel leaning into him

“Si, I can. Though I can only supplement Miguel’s telling” Malcom sat at the other end of the couch, legs crossed, pushing his hair from his face. He noticed a distinct lack of Rodrigo. Probably for the better. “Where would you like to start, Miguel?” 

The boy’s eyes shone with a kind of courage the Malcom couldn’t help but feel proud of. 

“I think I should start with… the day I left”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're interested, the original masterpost for this fic can be read at the link below! 
> 
> https://doodleimprovement.tumblr.com/post/173460522144/psychologist-malcom-kevgil-is-called-upon-by-the

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY got around to transferring this fic to AO3. This is an old one, so uh, enjoy!


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